


Mistlefoe

by sofia_gigante



Series: Dark Knight, Bright Son [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce is a show-off, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Clark watched too much TV as a kid, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Martial Arts, Mistletoe, Sparring, SuperBat, mistlefoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 08:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5449976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sofia_gigante/pseuds/sofia_gigante
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"You’re going to have to earn your kiss, Kal. Catch me under the mistletoe and take it.”</i>
</p><p>Clark’s martial arts training gets interesting when Bruce introduces a festive element to their lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistlefoe

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [槲寄生下的对手](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8322682) by [ginettecat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginettecat/pseuds/ginettecat)



> Inspired by [this thread](http://scribblscrabbl.tumblr.com/post/135290043514/fun-christmas-idea) on Tumblr, and the simple idea that instead of kissing someone under the mistletoe, you fight them. I figure, why not both?
> 
> This is unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> Though part of the "Dark Knight, Bright Son" 'verse, this fic can be enjoyed on its own.

“Bruce?”

“Hmmm?”

“Is that mistletoe?” Clark pointed up at the vaulted ceiling of Bruce’s private dojo, where a small green sprig dangled from the rafter bisecting the room.

“Yes, it is.” Bruce’s lips curled up into the barest hint of a smile. “I hung it up for you.”

Clark had mentioned on his last visit that he’d only ever been kissed platonically under the mistletoe, just chaste, cheek kisses from his mother or female friends. It looked like Bruce was about to change that, and Clark’s heart squeezed in pleasure. This was an unexpectedly sweet gesture on Bruce’s part, especially since he knew Bruce wasn’t all too keen on observing holiday traditions.

Rather than approach him for a kiss, though, Bruce unzipped his black warm-up jacket and tossed it on the bench. Clark was admiring how good Bruce looked in his form-fitting tank top when Bruce reached into both the pockets of his work-out pants. Clark’s pulse sped up as Bruce pulled out the velvet box holding Clark’s kryptonite ring and a thick, black handkerchief.

“I think I’m going to like whatever it is you’ve planned.” He eagerly pulled off his old Metropolis Meteors hoodie and tucked his glasses safely in the big front pocket. If he’d known that Bruce was planning something a little more _fun_ for their training tonight he might have splurged on something that showed off his physique better than a white T-shirt and old sweatpants.

Regardless of his attire, Clark was glad for the change in plans. These weekly combat training sessions were hardly Clark’s favorite way of spending their precious time alone together, but Bruce insisted on them. It was the one condition of the kryptonite ring he’d made for Clark, that Clark learn how to fight without his super-strength, super-speed, or super-senses.

“I don’t think you’re going to enjoy this as much as you think you are.” Bruce smirked a little as he handed the box over to Clark. Clark slid the kryptonite-laced ring onto his finger, breathing through the familiar dulling of his powers. His anticipation grew as he watched Bruce fold up the handkerchief into a blindfold…until Bruce tied it around his own eyes.

“Oh, come on!” Clark’s heart sank as Bruce bounced up into a fighting stance. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Bruce!” Guess this wasn’t going to be quite as much fun as he'd hoped it would be.

“I figured it was only fair to give you an advantage,” Bruce said, and Clark could hear the pride—near arrogance—edging his words. “This is your challenge. You’re going to have to earn your kiss, Kal. Catch me under the mistletoe and take it.”

“All right.” Clark sighed, and arranged himself into a fighting stance. Maybe the blindfold was Bruce’s way of letting Clark win without giving in too easily. Clark stepped forward, and reached out to grab one of Bruce’s arms. “I guess you want this to be over quickly—”

Bruce danced out of range before Clark’s hand even brushed his arm. Clark tried grabbing him again, but Bruce side-stepped—then lashed out with a back-fisted punch. Clark blocked it high, just in time to realize what Bruce was doing with his other fist. Clark barely managed to swing his arm down to block the low blow that would’ve caught him in the side of the stomach.

“Good!” Bruce said. Clark hurriedly stepped back. He'd learned the hard way that when Bruce praised him, he was about to strike with some new attack, using Clark’s pleasure as a distraction.

This time, though, Bruce retreated as well, centering himself under the mistletoe. How did Bruce know exactly where he was? He must be counting his steps, know exactly how many it took to reach the middle of the room from any spot. Typical. Bruce's dark eyebrow arched up from under the blindfold, both invitation and challenge. _Come and get me._

Clark tried to pad around quietly to the side, sneak up on Bruce’s flank, but even as Clark lunged Bruce twisted easily out of the way. Clark tried to follow with a series of grabs, but Bruce deflected each one with maddening ease, until they were almost against the wall. For a moment, Clark considered just trying to pin him with his weight—it wasn’t directly under the mistletoe, but maybe it was close enough to end this—until Bruce leapt up high and lashed out with a spinning kick to Clark’s face. Clark managed to duck back fast enough to avoid the strike, but his stance was shot. He fell backwards to the ground with a hard _thud_ , his pride hurt worse than his rear.

“Balance, Kal,” Bruce chided lightly, and then actually _dove_ over Clark’s prone body. Bruce flipped easily to the center of the room, and turned back to Clark with a maddening little smile on his face.

Clark’s annoyance was quickly becoming frustration. He toyed with the idea of quietly removing the ring, using one of his powers to level the playing field...but no. That wouldn’t be right. This was more than a game—this was a test, both of Clark’s skills and of Bruce’s abilities as a teacher. But Clark wasn’t Bruce, and never would be. He didn’t have Bruce’s natural reflexes, his years of training, his encyclopedic knowledge of fighting styles. Even with a handful of lessons under his belt, Clark couldn’t be more than he was, a farm boy who’d only ever gotten into schoolyard scraps and seen fights on TV before his super-powers had manifested…

_Of course!_

Rather than come after Bruce again, Clark jumped up as hard as he could. With his full powers that leap could propel him into space, but with his abilities dampened by the kryptonite ring, it only got him a few feet high. It was enough, though, and Clark grabbed onto the center rafter, and used his strength to pull himself up the rest of the way onto the beam. The wood was so solid that it didn’t creak, even as he laid along it to spread out his weight. Perfect.

“Trying something different, are you?” Bruce asked. He looked around, and even though Bruce’s eyes were hidden by the blindfold Clark still froze, trying to become invisible. Bruce eventually turned away, and Clark began to inch his way along the rafter on his hands and knees. He held his breath, trying to be as silent as possible, and it felt like three years had passed before he’d traversed the ten feet he needed to be directly above Bruce in the center of the room. He carefully pulled the mistletoe off the hook it was hanging on, just in case this all went awry. He would just have to get extra-creative then.

He watched Bruce for clues that he heard Clark directly above him, but either Bruce was pretending not to hear Clark, or he genuinely didn’t know where he was. Clark would have to take a chance. He couldn’t stay up here forever. But how to do this without hurting Bruce if he wasn’t ready for it? Clark studied Bruce’s stance, trying to deduce the best angle for his attack. If Bruce could just shift a little to the left…there!

Clark pushed himself off of the beam sideways, and spread his arms and legs to create a wider surface to catch Bruce. God, he hoped this worked.

Bruce heard him a second too late. He tried to leap out of the way, but Clark slammed into his back like a bag of wet cement. Bruce collapsed to the padded floor with a yell of surprise. Clark landed on top of him, trying absorb most of his weight on his arms. Before Bruce could buck him off and escape, Clark rolled him over and slammed his lips against Bruce’s. It was a clumsy, desperate kiss, but as he felt Bruce’s tense muscles relax under him, Clark knew that he’d won.

Eventually Clark pulled away, and Bruce nudged the blindfold up far enough to fix Clark with a piercing look. “I did _not_ teach you how to do that.”

“No,” Clark admitted sheepishly.

“Then where did you—”

“WWF. Used to watch it as a kid,” Clark muttered, his face burning.

“WW—Clark! You don’t use fake wrestling moves in a real fight!”

“Well, it worked!” Clark shook the mistletoe over Bruce’s head. “And you’re always telling me to use my environment to my advantage.”

Bruce just stared at Clark with a mix of exasperation and confusion. For a moment, he thought Bruce was going to say that Clark had cheated and insist they try the exercise again.

Then Bruce laughed, the deep sound vibrating warmly against Clark’s chest. “You’re right, I did.”

Relief flooded through Clark. “How did I know that the one fighting style you wouldn’t know was pro wrestling?”

“It’s not a real fighting style. It’s not even real wrestling!” Bruce’s mouth twisted again into a scowl. Clark didn’t bother arguing with him. He just kissed Bruce again, feeling his frown soften under his lips.

“So, I win.” Clark said. “Do I get a prize?”

“You got your kiss under the mistletoe.”

“No. I think I deserve a little more for my creative thinking.” Clark gave Bruce a mischievous smile, and slid his blindfold back down into place. “I think you deserve a little something, too, for being such a good teacher.”

“We still need to work on your footwork.” Bruce tried to sound stern, even as his breath hitched. “I could hear you thundering around the room when you came at me from the side…” His words trailed off as Clark rolled off of Bruce, and placed the sprig of mistletoe on his abdomen, right above the tie of his pants.

“Afterwards. Right now, I think there’s something else that needs kissing.”


End file.
